This is not an exit, she giggled
by Thesuperpope
Summary: "Basically, Erik and Charles get trapped in an elevator together." -That. It's much more interesting than it sounds. I swear.


Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.- Anaïs Nin

"Shit."

"This isn't good."

"You think?"

"Alright, let's, uh, give it a minute or two. I'm certain it'll start to work." A few minutes went by, and when it was apparent that the elevator was not going to move any time soon, he coughed and said, "Or, I could be wrong."

"Bet it's the first time too," Erik muttered.

"Has it ever done this before," Charles asked, ignoring the remark.

"Don't know, but aren't we so lucky to experience it?"

"I know it'll be hard, but contain yourself. Someone will come get us, or it'll fix itself."

"Or it won't, and we'll rot in here."

"How pessimistic of you."

"I prefer realistic."

"I'm not sure you grasp the difference between the two."

"Then I'm so happy I have you here to enlighten me."

"I'm really loving your attitude. It's positively dripping in sunshine and rainbows."

"If you think I have an attitude now, keep talking."

"Look, I don't know what I've done to set you off, but I apologize."

Erik sighed, and some of the tension eased off his face. He turned, faced Charles, and said, "Sorry. It's been a long week."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'm not in the habit of talking to strangers. Upbringing and all that nonsense."

"I live down the hall! That hardly makes us strangers."

"Yes, but I've never said more than five words to you. I don't even remember your name."

"Charles Xavier," he said as his hand shot forward.

Erik stared at the limb as it hovered in the air, then dryly said, "That wasn't an invitation."

"It sounded like one. Besides, you have any other suggestions?"

"We could play the quiet game."

"If I'm to rot, I'd rather not do it in silence."

"You don't give up, do you?"

"Not at all," Charles replied with a unwavering smile.

Erik glared into the other man's eyes for a few moments before, "Erik Lehnsherr."

"Pardon?"

"My name. Erik Lehnsherr."

"Nice to finally meet you Erik," he responded with another offering of his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Erik grabbed it, and they shook. A warm smile broke onto Charles' face replacing the polite, lukewarm one that had been there moments before.

"Same here," Erik mumbled.

"So, you were saying something about a horrible week?"

'Of course he'd jumped right in and picked that' Erik thought to himself. He quickly came up with a list of bullshit answers, and picked, "Work."

"What about it?"

"It sucks."

"You're a real plethora of information."

"And you're asking about shit that doesn't concern you."

"Christ! I didn't mean anything by it. How about you ask the questions so my head doesn't get bitten off."

"Fine. How was your week?"

"You're hilarious," Charles answered with a knotted brow.

"You never answered my question."

"My week was boring," he huffed.

"Fascinating, utterly fascinating. Anyways, I think that sums up the 'getting to know about our week' portion of the program. How about you go ahead and inform the audience what exciting topics we'll be discussing next!"

"Seeing how there are only so many words in the world, I don't think I could accurately describe the amount of pissiness that is currently spewing from your every pore, but I could definitely give it a shot."

"Oh look, the leprechaun has a comeback. Why so angry little fella? Someone stole your pot o' gold?"

"Are you doing talking yet? I can only handle so much whining."

"Huh, I guess I was wrong about you."

"Come again," he asked, more than a little confused at the seemingly abrupt change in conversation.

"I always assumed that you were this meek, intelligent, stuffy waif of a man that passed through life with no real interruptions or turmoil. More of a housecat than a human. How could I be so wrong?"

"Oh, thank yo-"

"You're more like that annoying parakeet that won't shut up than the cat."

"And you're like that dog the old couple down the streets owns. You know, the one who keeps biting kids and barking all night? You should be put down, but your owners just love you too much to be that cruel. Finally, one of the annoyed neighbors sneaks over in the middle of the night and caves in its skull with a brick."

"That's way too specific to be made up, but I'm hoping to be proven wrong."

"I didn't do it if that's what you're asking."

"Then?"

"Certain members of my family are assholes. We could never go back to that summer home, but the less said about them or the situation, the better."

"Do you have any relatives who weren't evil incarnate?"

Charles let out a warm laugh the seemed to brighten up his face slightly. "My sister Raven. She's the closest thing I have to a family, which is weird considering she isn't blood related to me. She's always felt like it though."

"Stepsister?"

"God no. She's, um, 'adopted'. She kinda showed up in my life one day, and has been lounging on couch and drinking my beer ever since. Well, she used to at least."

"She sounds more like a frat boy than a sister."

"She'd take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one."

"Thanks. Anyways, what about you? Have any siblings that you like to torture in your spare time?"

"Nope. Only child."

"Your parent's were smart."

"It's not like they had much of a choice."

"Oh. I didn't..."

"I know. They lived good lives and went peacefully, so it all worked out in the end right?"

"Yeah. That's good. Wait, I didn't mean that it was good that they died, more like good they went peacefully. Well, it's not good they died, merely that they-"

"Charles?"

"Yes," he almost squeaked.

"How does your shoe taste?"

"Somewhere between shame and embarrassment."

"Aren't those basically the same thing?"

"Not entirely, but they taste similar."

"Good to know," Erik trailed off. A few beats of silence passed before he asked, "Is it me, or is it really fucking hot in here?"

"Is that a trick question?"

"What?"

"Never mind. Yeah, it's quite hot in here. I guess it's to be expected since we're basically trapped in a tiny box. I was sure it'd be fixed by now though. How long has it been?"

"No idea. A long ass time?"

"You did pressed the emergency button, right?"

"Yeah. Did it when you started talking, but got nothing."

The only response he received was a very intense glare.

"That was a joke."

"Didn't know you could do those without dipping them in venom first."

"I'd have a comeback, but I'm pretty sure I deserved that."

"You did. The audience and I decided it."

"Tough crowds."

"Only when we're mocked."

"Then I shall try my best not to do so."

"We'd appreciate that."

"Of course, I expect you to do the same."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been perfectly cordial this whole time."

"Bullshit."

"Erik! We shouldn't be worrying about such trivial things like what I have or haven't, which I most certainly haven't, been and focus on the more important heat issue."

"And how do you suggest we go about that," he asked a bit annoyed, but more amused.

"We could start by opening that vent thing above your head."

Erik looked straight up at said 'vent thing' and wondered how he hadn't noticed it before. When that proved pointless, he reached up and opened it. The tiny room didn't grow any colder, merely less stuffy.

"Aw, much better," Charles sighed.

"It's still miserable though."

"I suppose. It's strange how neither of us even mentioned the heat before."

"I noticed it, but I was too busy talking to you to really think about it."

"Same here. It seems that the more we talk, the less we take in our situation. So, in order to remain calm and keep the peace, we should continue conversing."

"Wow. You didn't jump to that conclusion, you fucking pole vaulted to it. I salute you for that feat."

"I didn't pole vault to anything Erik. I merely put two and two together."

"And got cornflower blue."

"Are snarky comments your first line of defense or something?"

"Usually. Been snarky all my life."

"And it's gotten you friends?"

"Not necessarily."

"You say that like it doesn't bother you."

"It honestly doesn't."

"That's a lie. Who doesn't care that they have no friends?"

"I didn't say I didn't have any friends."

"You didn't say otherwise."

"Whatever. I do have friends, but not much."

"That's comforting to hear. I was afraid you were one of those people who'd grow up alone and cranky."

"I thought I was an angry dog who bit kids?"

"You can still bite children as an old man. Just trip them with your cane to make it easier."

"And whose children would I be biting?"

"Random kids on the street, orphans, your friend's kids."

"Two of those are the same thing, and my friends are definitely not the kid having types. They're mostly other artist who would probably use their kid's blood as paint or something."

"So you're an artist by trade? Wonderful! Has any of your work been published or featured anywhere?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It's really not that important. What about you? What do you do? Who're your friends," Erik breathlessly rambled, desperate to change the subject.

"I'm a professor," he said with a knowing tone.

"Of what?"

"Science, with a concentration in genetics."

"Huh. Took you for English."

"What? Why?"

"You seem like the type of guy who always has his nose in a book. Like, most days you actually fall asleep while reading."

"That only happens on occasions."

"Occasions?"

"Fine, happens a lot actually," he huffed.

"I'm guessing it's not light reading either."

"Usually stuff for work, but novels sometimes find their way onto my desk."

"You probably read more in one day than I have all year."

"Don't like to read?"

"Don't have the time."

"There's always enough time to read. Nothing can keep a man from his books if his will is strong enough."

"Your love of books is both endearing and extremely off-putting. You're like a junkie of novels."

"Let me get this right. In your heard, I'm a novel snorting parakeet?"

"Yes. You're currently fluttering around, yelling something about me smelling like trees."

"And I'm on the one acting like a drug addict?"

"Never said I wasn't."

"There was a little too much pride in that sentence."

"You don't take pride in your eccentricities?"

"Not when they're illegal."

"Don't be such a prude! Are you telling me that you've never in your entire life partaken in a a few illegal substances?"

"You ask that like drugs are your favorite pastime or something."

"Of course not. Every now and then I might smoke some pot, but I don't go out of my way to get the shit."

"Didn't think you'd actually admit that."

"Scandalized?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I'm not sure what that says about the both of us."

"We're open-minded people?"

"If that helps you sleep at night."

"That phrase," Charles sighed with a tinge of annoyance.

"What's wrong with that phrase?"

"My mate back home would use it all the time. I'm not even sure he knew what it meant," he chuckled mainly to himself.

Erik waited until the laughs stopped so he could make another comment, but when they never did, he started to feel uneasy. "What's gotten you so giggly?"

"Just remember the days of my youth. All the things me and my friends did. All the trouble we got into."

"Oh, now you're a social deviant? I'm just going to assume you're bipolar and move on."

"I'm not bipolar Erik."

"You've done nothing to convince me to the contrary."

"I admit that I've been somewhat loopy, but I'm not insane."

"The craziest people always think they're the normal ones."

"What if they are?"

"Then we're all fucked."

"Good to know. I'm also claiming the heat as the cause of my loopiness by the way."

"Well fuck. Now that you've gone and mentioned the heat, we're going to actually notice it."

As if hearing its cue, the heat made itself known to them. It was stronger than before, turning the elevator into a hot box from hell. Both men began to un-tuck/loosen clothes to make themselves cooler. Beads of sweet cascaded down their faces, pooled on their brows, and dampened their clothes. Too much longer in this situation, and they would have been in serious trouble.

"I need to learn how to shut my big mouth," Charles muttered to himself as he leaned down to sit on the floor.

"Might be helpful in the future," Erik laughed while following suit.

"You've said something along those lines about every ten minutes or so. You repeat yourself too much. Stop it."

"It's too fucking hot to hear you. Could you repeat yourself?"

"The longevity of your wit never ceases to amaze me."

"It's like the little engine that could."

"I've never wished more for a train crash than at this very moment."

"Are snarky comebacks your first line of defense or something?"

"Have I mentioned how 'charming' I find your wit to be?"

"No, but you really should."

"I'm afraid of inflating your ego even more."

"You think I have a big ego?"

"Yes and no. The way you act make it look like you do, but there's a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I'm wrong. I can't really explain it."

"The voices in your head are right for once."

"Don't tell them that. They might start speaking up more, which would be awful."

"I don't know. I think it'd be interesting to get an inside peak into your brain. Give me a better understanding of how you function."

"Looking into my brain won't give you a better understanding of anything. People's thoughts are jumbled, inconsistent, and contradictory."

"And how the fuck do you know this?"

"I'm a professor. The main thrust of my job involves teaching, so after years of doing it, I got to be pretty good at observing people. There will always be certain personality types in each class, no matter where they're from or what year it is. I can usually guess how each person will do in my class by the way they act, because I've seen it so many times. I'm not saying that people act solely based on stereotypical personalities, but they definitely are influenced by them. I guess what I'm trying to get across is that peeking into a person's thoughts will only yield confusion, but simply observing the way they react to a situation will give a clearer picture of them."

"Even while you melt in a stalled elevator, you still have enough energy to enter into professor tract mode. I'd applaud you, but I feel like that'd just be a waste of energy."

"Huh, did I enter into professor mode? Didn't mean to. It must be the heat getting to me. I suppose I should rest my poor vocal chords and let you speak now."

"That's a pathetic attempt at getting me to open up."

Charles shrugged as his eyes fell short and he scooted into the wall, trying to get comfortable.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Resting my eyes. Keep talking. I'll respond if I'm not dead."

"I'm not going to tell you my life story, because you wasted all your energy talking."

"Fine by me."

"I'm not waking you up if you fall asleep."

"Whatever you want to do," Charles sighed as he head lolled to the side.

Erik thought to himself, something he'd been doing a lot recently, while Charles waited for him to finally speak.

"I hate my neighbors," Erik with an affirming nod of the head.

Charles eyes shot open, betraying him, only to narrow into a glare moments later. "Gee, thanks for sharing that totally huge secret with me."

"Contrary to what you believe, I don't hate you. It's my actual neighbors I fucking loath."

"The Brody's?"

"Yeah. They won't stop shooting at me."

"What," Charles flatly said.

"Their son has a toy gun, the one with the caps, and the little shit won't stop shooting me. He's wait around corners, and jumps out whenever I pass by. It wasn't that annoying at first, but he kept doing it over and over again. Finally, I had enough and went to talk to his parents. They rolled their eyes and said something about 'boys being boys'. The next time I saw him, he had two guns."

"That's nothing. The little girl who lives next to me is ten times worse."

"She the one who wrote that weird play thing?"

"Yeah. In fact, she asked me to be the star of it."

"She asked me to be a background character who yelled the word rape a lot. I lied about having to work all week, then stayed in my room avoiding her and her freakish sister."

"You got off easy. I told her the same thing, and she threw a fit."

"She seemed like a fit-thrower, so I told her as fast as possible. She never had time to muster one up."

"I'm not that lucky. I can't hide out all week in my apartment. I actually have outside engagements. I did manage to sneak around her, but I was caught at the last minute. She threw an even bigger fit, which was made even worse by the shrieking her sister was doing. Someone came out to see what the commotion was, and I took the opportunity to escape. She now tells people I kick cats for fun."

"Your family does have a history of animal abuse after all."

"I may not be laughing on the outside, but underneath this serious facade, I'm losing my shit in laughter."

"You're losing it alright."

"It's the heat. It's too fucking hot."

"We've had this discussion."

"Stop pointing that out."

"I thought you didn't like repetition."

"My brain melted. I stopped caring."

"For never was a story more insane, than this of Charles and his melted brain."

"The was horribly forced."

"Never said I was a poet."

"You haven't said much, other than a few snide comments here and there."

"What do you want? A full dissertation on my life?"

"A simple childhood memory would be nice."

"My childhood was boring."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"The only thing I remember clearly is my mother."

"Tell me about her."

"There isn't much to say. I remember that she was always tired and had these bags under her eyes. I don't know if there ever was a time when she didn't have them, so they never really caught my attention. Then one day, I couldn't stop staring at them. I had no idea what came over me, because there was no reason for me to find them so interesting. Like I said, they had been there all my life. I tried my best to just ignore it until it went away, but I couldn't take it anymore. I mustered up enough courage and asked about them. She was extremely confused, but smiled, looked me in the eyes, and told me that they were from loving me so much. After that, I would always ask when I was going to get mine, because I loved her even more. She laughed it off and told me that I wasn't old enough yet, so every birthday I would run and check. I always pouted when I didn't see them, and she'd be right there to cheer me up with a hug and some cake. Sometimes, when I was bored, I'd take an old Newman marker and color in some. Then I'd walk around all day and help my mom with chores. She'd get angry with me, say I was ruining my skin, but there was always a smile on her face."

"Your mother sounds wonderful. Nothing like mine."

"Was she the one with the dog?"

"God no. That was someone else. She was...well, she was fine, just not very maternal. She tried, but somewhere around age five or six, she gave up. I was mostly raised by the maids after that."

"You had maids?"

"Our house was so big that we needed some. I'd help them out whenever I could though. Raven never did, but they loved her anyways."

"When did Raven show up?"

"When I was seven I think. She always got in trouble over the stupidest things. There's this one time Kurt found all her booze and threw it out. She bitched for weeks on end. I tried my best to calm her down, but she never listened to me. A week after, he left on a trip to Manila. She spent the whole time staring at his prized trophy collection. I'm not sure why he had one, some weren't even his, but she stared at it nonetheless. The day he was supposed to come home, my mom baked him a cake. It wasn't one of those easy cakes either. This one had taken a lot of prep work, and had taken nearly all day. Anyways, after it had cooled, she iced it and left to go pick him up from the airport. The second she left the driveway, Raven stood up and ran to the kitchen. In the blink of an eye, she picked up the cake, and threw it out into the rain."

"Why the fuck did she do that instead of breaking the trophies?"

"I was confused too, so I asked her. She said that she couldn't take staring at it, so she got rid of it. That confused me even more, but I never completely understood her or her actions. I never was able to get a good reading on her even though we lived together so many years. It's strangely comforting knowing that there's one person out there I don't understand completely. In a world that seems flat to me, she's the one thing that's three-dimensional. Does that make any sense?"

"Perfect."

"Good."

"What happened to her," Erik asked without thought.

"Hmm?"

"Well, it just seems like you're reminiscing whenever you talk about her. Like, you two don't talk anymore."

"Oh. We lost touch a long time ago."

"Moved to different places?"

"You could say that. She ended up going to Brown and I travelled to Oxford. We tried to keep in touch, but we had a fight. It's kinda my fault now that I think about it."

"Then apologize and make up."

"I fear that it'll take more than that to fix the rift between us."

"Have you even tried? Hell, what did you two fight about?"

"I don't remember, but it ended with her asking me, 'If I was tired of being a liar'."

"You two fought over whether or not you were a liar?"

"That was the big part of it, but it wasn't everything."

"There's something you're not telling me, but I'm not going to prod. With all the things you've already said, if you're holding back, then it must too personal."

"Don't you want to know what I answered?"

"I have a feeling that it doesn't matter."

"How insightful of you."

"You must be rubbing off on me."

"At least it's happening to one person."

"I'm pretty sure you've influenced at least one of your students."

"Maybe in the first few years, but not anymore. I don't know what it is, but now it feels like I'm just going through the motions. I used to want to meet the new students, to touch each and every mind, to show them that the world wasn't such a boring place, but all I seem to care about now is hoping they pass. It's like I've lost all passion for my work."

"Everyone goes through phases like that."

"Yeah, but phases eventually end. Mine's been going in a few years now," Charles hoarsely responded as he folded up his pant legs.

"It's not like there's a time limit for these types of things. I go through them every so often, and they always end. You just have to wait. It sucks, but what can you do?"

"It hurts though. It physically hurts me that I can't muster up the energy to care. The old desire's still there too. You must know what that feels like. To want to do something so badly, only to wake up one morning and realize that you can't. To realize that your passion somehow died without you realizing."

Erik fell silent before replying, almost in a whisper, "The worst part is when you recognize that it'll never go away. You can distract yourself during the day, but the second your head hits the pillow, that nagging sadness erupts. That desire, that want, that fire that's been slowly melting your heart all day, it all becomes too strong to ignore. You'd put it out, but you can never bring yourself to do it. All you can do is stare into the ceiling, watch the fan go round in circles, and will yourself to sleep. Then you do it all again the next day. Eventually you'll learn to live with it, but it doesn't come easy."

"And every day before seems to move in slow-motion. The walls seem closer in, and the sky looks more crowded. The world...it turns grey."

"That's so pretentious I think it swung back around into meaningful."

"Good job killing the mood Erik."

"If I'm good at one thing, it's that."

"I've learned. You're like one giant, breathing emotional cock-block."

"Our descriptions of each other grow more nonsensical the longer we stay in here."

"It's the heat. It's too fucking hot."

"Seeing how that's about the fifth time you've said those exact words, I think you may be going a bit crazy."

"I'm tired and hot, which I wouldn't be if I didn't have to talk so much."

"I'm not sure that's how heatstroke works."

"What do you know? You're an artist."

"Just because I paint, doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Oh, so you're a painter?"

"By now, I really should stop being surprised at your selective hearing, but I'm not."

"What style do you use? I take you as a Romantic."

"Avant garde," Erik said sharply.

"Interesting. I'm not that much of a fan, but I do like what some works have to say."

"Least someone's open-minded."

"People not responding to your paintings well?"

"Not entirely. They think some are too weird."

"What do they think is so weird?"

"The techniques, I think. I honestly don't know. The whole thing is annoyingly stupid," Erik muttered as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Then switch up your techniques. Do the things they like, mixed with what you prefer. That way, everyone gets what they want. The smart people will understand what you were doing, and they're the ones you want to impress right?"

"I won't be able to call it my own if I do that. I want my work to be solely mine. I shouldn't have to cater to a bigot."

"I know, but forcing people to like your stuff won't solve anything."

"I don't want to force them, but I don't know what else to do."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"The situation's just fucked up all around," Erik sighed, jumping to his feet. He walked over to the emergency button, and pressed it incessantly.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know. Willing this fucking thing to work?"

"I'm pretty sure someone's working on it. Just wait."

"I'm tired of waiting. I've waited long enough," he nearly barked as his foot slammed into the door.

"The more energy you waste flailing about, the worst you'll be in the future."

"I don't plan on staying in here my entire life, and I certainly don't plan on sitting here and doing nothing until someone comes and saves me."

"You've had no issue with doing so until now."

"Stockholm Syndrome combined with heatstroke."

"Who the hell captured you? You do know what Stockholm syndrome is right?"

"Like I said earlier, I'm not fucking stupid. I know what it is."

"I already told you that I don't think you're fucking stupid! Now just calm down, and think! Mindlessly beating on things will get you nowhere."

"I am thinking! Fuck, I'm doing more than your lazy ass. I'd ask you to help me, but you seem pretty content to die in that corner."

"I'm not doing anything, because there isn't anything I can do! I could yell and hit things, but I've evolved past the Neanderthal stage of life."

"Oh yes, you really are such a gloriously mature, and evolved person," Erik snarled as he wiped the sweat from his brows.

"What crawl up your ass in the last minute?"

"I finally got tired of talking. That so hard to believe?"

"No, but it's annoying. You were finally starting to do something other than make jokes every two seconds, and now you're back to the insults. It's like we've ended up right back where we started."

"I'm sorry this little experience didn't change our lives, but get over it."

"How do you know that?"

"What?"

"How do you that this hasn't affected me in some way? It's not a hobby of mine to spill my life story to complete strangers."

"We're still strangers."

"That's bullshit."

"Oh come on! We know nothing about each other!"

"I know a lot about you."

"Like what?"

"You have the frailest steel heart I've ever seen. You hide behind sarcastic remarks, because an honest emotional response would be too rough on it. You sit there, judging everyone, pushing them away so there's no way they can hurt you. If anyone got anywhere close to you, they'd be able to notice your self-described weaknesses. I have no idea where these insecurities stem from, but I can tell that you've been alone for a long time. You mentioned your parents, but only got into detail about your mother. Actually, she's the only person who's been given more than a few breaths of description. The rest of the world gets a mention, but instantly dropped for not being important. She's literally the only thing, besides your art, that you've told me about with any hint of affection. Even with that affection, there's a hint of sadness that seems to permeate everything you say. You're like a boy who had to grow up before his time, and now that you're actually an adult, you feel stuck. The ironic is that you keep swatting away the hands that are trying to help you up."

Erik eyes were slits of anger at this point. His gaze bore holes in the door before him. Charles knew that he had crossed an imaginary line. He quickly rose to his feet, ready to defend himself anyway possible. He definitely couldn't take Erik in a fight, but he'd have a better chance to do damage standing up. He didn't exactly know what was coming, but he had to be ready for anything.

"And you're an asshole who pays more attention to others than himself," came a reply, catching Charles completely off-guard. "Everything you've told me is about something or someone leaving you. You put on this happy persona that's laughs and smiles, but underneath it all, you're just as alone as me. If I'm stuck, then you're living in an illusion. I may be the boy who grew up too quickly, but you're the man who believes that he never had to grow up."

Charles willed his mouth to move, but nothing happened. The words of both men dissipated into the air, and swirled into the heat. Practiced, rhythmic breathes were the only sounds that rang in the room. Charles' mind spun, desperately trying to land on anything to say. Erik continued to stare at the door, not having turned since he stood up.

"You managed to pierce me with so little words. How succinct," was the only response Charles could come up with.

"I can be good with words when needed."

"It seems so," Charles replied as he walked forward slowly.

Out the corner of his eyes, Erik watched him. Everything seemed to be moving slow motion to him. "What're you doing?"

Charles stopped inches away from Erik. His eyes focused on the rise of the other man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what," Erik responded without thinking.

Charles' eyes darted up, fell back down, then seemed to wander aimlessly around the room. He seemed to be trying to sink into the floor, and forget that any of this was happening. He slightly clenched and unclenched his hands. "I don't know. Everything?"

"There's nothing to apologize for," he replied, turning to face Charles. Charles looked straight up, his eyes meeting Erik's

"It feels like there is."

"There isn't. Go back to your corner."

"Why?"

"Do you really want to know the answer to that?"

"Yes."

"No you don't."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

"I don't believe you," Charles sighed as his head rose to meet Erik's.

"Wait," he hurriedly breathed out.

"What now?"

"I...I'm...I think I'm sick."

Charles' face fell slightly in confusion, while Erik's tightened in anticipation. The two men stilled. They quietly inhaled each other's breaths, their minds figuring out exactly what was happening. The shorter man's lit up after a few seconds, a devilish grin forming on his face.

"Then I'll be sick with you," Charles cooed, pure lust wrapped in every word.

"Really," he whispered.

"Yeah," Charles chuckled, failing the properly asses a situation for the second time in his entire life.

"That's the first time anyone's ever told me that," Erik said. With a quick flash of his hand, he brought Charles' face even closer. Their lips were centimeters apart, and the silence of the elevator became deafening. They waited for the other to take that final leap and push their lips together, but neither budged. Whoever ultimately did, they'd never remember.

Their lips collided with an intensity the two men had never experienced. It was all lips and tongue and seem to be on a constant verge of self-destructing. They kissed as though they had been lovers all their lives, and, in a way, they had. The intense of it slowly calmed into a soothing, peaceful motion. Their hearts did acrobatic tricks in their chest, pushing blood into areas long since dormant.

Erik's slender fingers pulled up Charles' shirt and began to massage his sensitive nipples. Using the sweat he found there, he swept over the swollen nubs, reveling in the lewd noises Charles kept making. The smaller man's body started to grind against the other's lithe body, forcing their painfully clothed erections to grind against each other. Somewhere in all of this, Erik had managed to push Charles up against the doors.

"I want to fuck you through these," Erik growled.

"Too...hot. We'd...pass out," Charles moaned.

"Don't care. I want to fuck you till we both blank out."

Charles' mind was moving a bit too quickly, so his words came out in short breathes and moans. "Too much. It's too much. Something else."

"You can't, god, offer me all of this," he brought his hands under and squeezed Charles' supple ass, "then say I can't fuck it raw."

"There are other things we could do," he quickly said before he could give in.

"Like. What."

"I don't fucking know. Take off my pants. Go from there."

Erik sank to his knees, only moving his hands to unlatch the top of Charles' pants. He took in the sight the straining fabrics, and mentally stored it. Leaning forward, he grabbed the zipper between his teeth, and slowly began to pull down. The teeth unhinged one by one as he travelled over the curve of the erection. When it was completely undone, he hooked his hands into the pants and pulled down to the ankles. The underwear strained to hold the heavy cock that rest inside them.

"Quit staring," the owner grunted.

Filled with pure want by the forcefulness in the voice, he ripped the fabric down. Charles' erection bounced wildly in the air, elated to finally be free. Wasting no time, he licked up the underside of the shaft until he reached the tip. His tongue slipped into the slit, and played with the pre-cum that pooled there. He pulled back, his mouth hovering just above the trembling cock, his breath hitting it in patches of warm puffs. Erik looked up in anticipation, his eyes meeting Charles'. He swallowed him whole, slightly gagging as the cock filled his mouth.

The inside of Erik's mouth was as hot as one could imagine. His tongue ran over Charles' cock, swirling at the tip as he pulled back. There was a soft rhythm that lasted only for a seconds before Charles lost all the patience he had. He reached down, grabbed patches of Erik's hair, pull back, and started fucking his mouth. Loud slurping noises fell, along with bits of saliva, fell out of Erik's throat. Charles canted back and forth, and Erik's mouth was quickly becoming too tight, too warm, so his thrusts started becoming erratic as his head repeatedly hit the doors behind him while repeating "Fuck" over and over, and before he could give a signal, his orgasm hit him. Erik, while shocked, kept sucking until Charles had ridden it out.

Using the back of his hand, Erik wiped up the excess saliva and semen that coated his lips and cheeks. His hair was beyond disheveled, and his lips were puffy and red. He rose, placing soft kisses along Charles' abdomen as he did. When he reached the neck, he bit down hard, only to suck the skin moments later. Charles bobbed his head to the side to give him more access, but Erik turned him back.

Their lips met again, rough as the first time. Their tongues swirled around each other, fighting for dominance. Charles could taste himself in Erik's mouth, and the feeling of his seed on his tongue sent shock waves throughout his body. In between the kisses, Charles would nip Erik's bottom lip, tearing the skin and drawing blood.

"You fucking bit me," Erik moaned as he pulled back.

"Marking you," he incoherently babbled.

"You little slut," he whispered into Charles' ear.

"Your turn."

"Don't worry about me. You're too frazzled to be that coordinated anyways," he laughed as he ran his hand though Charles' hair.

"I'm fine," Charles tried to say, but his voice betrayed him. Instead of steady, it all came out in a hoarse sigh.

"I highly doubt that."

"How are you...so...so fucking together?"

"Experience," he answered.

"Then allow me to learn," Charles sighed as his hands went down.

"Don't."

"Erik."

"It won't...I'm...it's not needed."

"Shut up Erik," he whispered as his hands shook. He managed to steady them enough to undo Erik's pants and reach in. Erik's cock was thinner than his own, but longer by a considerable amount. Just as soon his hand touched, it was gone and brought to Erik's face.

"Spit," he commanded.

Even though there was some hesitation, he got his wish. He smeared the saliva and cum around in his palm, then brought it back to the aching hard-on. He started tugging with the speed and force that he himself enjoyed, which seemed to be working remarkably well. Erik tried to hold back, but couldn't. After he started to enjoy himself, it didn't take more than a few more strokes to come, spilling his seed all his stomach.

Both men fell silent as their mutual high started to drop. They stayed nestled together for a few brief moments, before separating. Charles reached down, and pulled a napkin out of his pocket. He wiped the residue off his hands while Erik tucked himself back in. They organized themselves, Erik having more luck than Charles, without looking at each other. The air was back to being suffocating.

"Why," Erik asked, cutting the atmosphere like a razor blade.

There was no response.

"Why," Erik asked again.

"Because I'm lonely," Charles said, eyes firmly focused on the ground, looking smaller than ever.

"How the fuck are you lonely? I mean, you have a wi-"

"It's Emma's birthday today. I came home early to make her favorite dinner," Charles said, cutting him off. His head hung low, his eyes filled with something akin to horror.

"Oh," Erik quietly replied.

"I wanted it to be special. We don't do a lot anymore. She'd rather spend time with your boyfriend than me."

"They work together. She wouldn't be home anyways."

"How do you know?"

"Shaw told me that the office was throwing her a party after work. I was supposed to drop off the cake after the doctor's. It was actually the last thing I did before I got in here."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Charles started to wipe his hand on his shirt, even though there was nothing there. The two didn't speak for what felt like minutes. The heat had come back, but it seemed so pointless to everything else, that it barely registered. Soft breathes were the only noises that filled the increasingly tiny room. "Why'd you let me?"

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to feel good."

"Did it?"

"Yeah. A bit softer than I'm used to."

Another silence passed between them. While every other one had a feeling of sadness behind it, this one was curiously warm. Nothing had changed to make it so, but warm it was. Charles stopped fooling with his hands and looked up. His eyes watered, but no tears fell. His breathing was somewhat slowed, but otherwise normal. He looked a wreck, but most of it, barring the large hickey, could easily be explained by claiming the heat did it. There was a somberness about him that could not be explained. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

Erik stared him down, his body angled with the slit in the doors behind him. He turned and his body took up more of the doorway. His lip was bruised, but he looked perfectly normal otherwise. Everything seemed in the same place it was when he entered. Even his hair has returned to its original shape. Yet, the way he held himself was different. His breathing was heavy and stilted, while his posture was looser than before. "It's ok," he smiled.

"Will it be?"

Erik's face fell slightly as he took the question in. Images flashed behind his eyes while his head tried to put everything in its rightful place. A list of bullshit response appeared in his mind, but was soon dropped. With one last inhale, he asked, "Do you honestly love her Charles?"

Life has to be given a meaning, because of the obvious fact that it has no meaning.-Henry Miller


End file.
